A Warrior's Call
by Dmfritsc
Summary: Tommy returns to Boston to find the life he once had flipped completely upside down - his father is a changed man, his brother is off living his dreams, and the woman he was supposed to return to is battling things he never imagined her doing. Jem Coughlin stands in his way to rebuilding what he left behind. As he fights to win, he fights to repair at the same time.
1. Chapter 1: Tommy

**Well, that didn't take me long. Haha. I took a shower and how cliche that it popped all up into my head. Haha. I have it all figured out. So, this version takes place in Boston. Tom Hardy and Jeremy Renner in one story?! I think my brain might explode. As usual, fair warning, I don't edit anything I post, because I'm a writer and I change things more than edit when I read and usually my editing is pretty horrible. - D**

Tommy Conlon sits on the porch of his father's house, debating why he should even stay. He knew his father would either throw him down the steps or welcome him in for a drink. He was prepared for either, shaking a few pills out of the container in his pocket. The concrete was cold under him, the chill in the wind making him shiver slightly. He had no place else to go for what he needed to do, this was his last stop. There was one other place he thought of, but he knew he couldn't go there. She wouldn't take him in, he didn't even think she would know who he was anymore. Sometimes he didn't even recognize himself. He yearned to see her, but he broke his promise to her…

Paddy Conlin was the best at what he did, even if those three things mainly revolved around training fighters, fighting people himself – even if it was his own family, and getting drunk. Tommy pushes the duffel bag at his feet off to the side and takes a swig of the whiskey in his hands as he watches his father's car approach. He can't shake the knots in his gut as the headlights shut off. This was the moment he had dreaded for the last fourteen years. Paddy climbs out of the car, baffled by the sight of his son sitting on the steps. He never thought he would see his son again after those fourteen years that he disappeared with his mother. It was like seeing a ghost. He blinks a few times, taking a few shaky steps forward as he squints. "Is that you, Tommy?" he asks, cautiously. Tommy's full lips pull into a smirk as he stares at his father. "What're you doin' out here?" He shakes his head at his father's words, glancing down at the steps before looking back up.

"I was just passin' through," he slurs, his pride too great to actually admit that he needs help – especially from his father. He shuffles through his duffel bag, knowing what his father will be more pleased to see instead of him. He holds a bottle of Jameson out to his dad. "Got a little somethin' for ya."

"That's not for me anymore, Tommy," Paddy mumbles, taking his hat off of his head. He stares down at the ground shyly, avoiding his son's eyes. Paddy quit drinking a while ago, shortly after an incident around Christmas a few years ago with his grandchildren. It took losing all kind of family he had period to get his act together. Tommy stares at his father awkwardly, trying to figure him out. There wasn't a time Tommy could recall in his childhood when Paddy didn't have a bottle pressed to his lips. "C'mon, let's go inside." He gestures, shaking the keys in his pocket.

The inside of the house is just as Tommy remembers, memories of all kinds surge through him. He takes another strong swig of his whiskey as they enter his mind. His father pushing him against the wall, punching him in the face after an argument, shoving his mother down in the kitchen… they continue as he glances around the house. He reaches to grab the pills again, but stops. He needs to be ready just in case Paddy tries to throw a punch at him. He's the strongest he's ever been and he's ready for his father this time. "I like what you've done with the place."

"Appreciate that," Paddy replies, feeling uneasy as he watches his son walk around the living room – the same harrowing memories playing through his mind, too. Not being able to take the feelings of it all, he disappears into the kitchen to make coffee, his new drug. It's somehow replaced his need for alcohol. Anytime he wants a drink he heads for the coffee instead.

"Not much of a woman's touch around here," he states, glancing at the football memorabilia hanging where his mother's patchwork once hung on the walls. The thought irked him a bit. His father could have at least left them up and had some dignity.

"No more women for me, Tommy." He didn't want to drag anyone else into his drama and he was sure no woman would even think about being with him after they uncovered his past.

"Must be hard to find a girl who can take a punch nowadays," Tommy jeers, hoping that it strikes his father internally with the same power that he used to strike his mother with. The thought makes him take another drag from the bottle in his hands. He takes notice of the pictures set up on the mantle along with a few books. His father and books never went well together, he was a fighter – a man who used his hands – not his mind. This was not what he was expecting. He was expecting his father's home to be a wreck, for his father to accept the Jameson, belittle him a little bit, then fight him until he couldn't fight anymore. Paddy ignores Tommy's comment and strides back into the living room, carrying a tray with a coffee pot and mugs on it. Tommy doesn't look at him and continues to stare at each picture, taking another strong swig as he looks at the picture of his mother. He was running out of good memories of her. The ones he had within the last few years revolved around watching her die painfully. He sets the picture of her down and steels himself as he looks at the picture of his older brother, Brendan, posing with Tess, his childhood sweetheart.

He clenches and unclenches his jaw as he stares at their smiles. He was supposed to have that life. He wasn't meant to grow up so soon. Older brothers were supposed to take care of the family, not the younger ones. Brendan never got past the jealousy he had towards Tommy. Tommy was always the better fighter and always was on the brighter side of the praise and beatings he received. "He's a school teacher in Philly now. He got married to Tess. They have two beautiful little girls." Tommy stares silently at the picture as she floods his mind…

_He was sitting on the soft, silky sand of the beach with Alina between his arms. It wasn't grainy and coarse like most sand was, which was why they always chose to sit there. It was the last sunset they were going to watch together – his last night with her. He squeezed her tightly as another breeze blew through them, whipping her curly blonde hair with it. The sun was close to the setting, sitting just above the horizon, skimming the water. "You promise you'll come back?" she whispered, leaning her head back onto his shoulder._

"_Yes," he replied, kissing her neck. "You know I can't be away from ya for that long." She giggled, lightly. "We'll start right back up where we left off, me workin' on buildin' a gym and you workin' on buildin' that dancin' studio right above it, so we can work next to each other every day an' you can drive me fuckin' insane – like most wives do their husbands." He smiled against her skin as he gasped._

"_Excuse me?"_

"_Well, that's the way it works, doesn't it?" She laughed and pinched his arm._

"_No. No, it's not. You men drive women insane."_

"_Oh, do we?" he asked as she wiggled out of his arms and pushed him onto the sand, pinning him to the ground. He could easily overpower her, but chose not to. He loved it when she pretended she was stronger than him._

"_Yes, you do. I'm pretty sure you're driving me insane by leaving, Tommy."_

His eyes filled with tears as he remembered her face. Her curly blonde hair, wild and untamable, her blue eyes always clear and searching – so pure and smart. She was so graceful and calm. He never came back for her. He never wrote back to her. He didn't do anything for her. Tommy pulls back his fist, resisting the urge to send the pictures to the floor. The bottle hits his lips again and he plops into the chair across from his father, staring at him dejectedly. "You know Alina lives close by –"

"I don't wanna hear about her," he quips, screwing the lid onto his bottle. Breaking down in front of Paddy was not an option. She was a weakness of his and he couldn't let anyone see that. He couldn't trust his father with that kind of information.

"Just thought you would wanna know. She's got a daughter now, too. She's a single mom. Works real hard to support her daughter. I thought maybe you could go an' – " Paddy quickly mumbles out all he needs to before Tommy stops him.

"I said I don't wanna hear about her," he repeats, this time as a warning. Paddy nods and takes a sip of his coffee, trying to shrug off his son's anger – he knew he had created the monster in front of him and he wasn't going to push his limits with him.

"Okay," Paddy mumbles, holding the mug in his hands, trying to do something to occupy his hands.


	2. Chapter 2: Suppose Not

**I changed the tense I was writing in. Writing in present always fucks me up. I didn't edit a lick of this. (You know me – haha) So, if it changes from present to past in some areas – I apologize. And if words are skipped or wrong or what have you – I apologize for that, too. I don't do anything aside from spell check. Anyway… I'm going to bed now. Enjoy and thanks for the support! :) **

**Awakemysoulx – I don't even know how I deal with it inside my fucking head right now, haha. :) - D**

There wasn't much to the bar that Jem Coughlin, Till Finnelly and Doug McCray sat at. It was old hole in the wall with hardwood floors, a few televisions, scraped up pool tables, and equally scraped up tables. The floor soaked up a lot of alcohol over the years of its operation, giving off that familiar warped smell most bars have on top of the stench the patrons were emitting. The bar was packed, even though it was small. Women had heard of the large bust earlier on in the week by the men and each one was determined to get a piece. Men scoffed in their direction, envying each one, glaring at them through the haze of cigarette smoke in the already dim setting. The three of them were oblivious, laughing as they recount the story.

"I've never seen a man piss himself like that," Doug laughed through his thick Boston accent. He had a full five o'clock shadow, styled dark brown hair, and dark brown eyes. He wasn't as hard looking as Jem – whose face already seemed years older than what it look like at his age. Years in prison and fighting does it to a man. Jem ran a hand through his dark blonde crew cut, his blue eyes squinting as he smiled. "Who picked out those fuckin' masks?" Jem held his hands up and shrugged, raising his eyebrows. Till raised his hands, slightly, his beer held loosely in his right hand.

"I did," Till answered, staring into the faces of the both of them with a smirk on his thin lips. He pushed his hair out of his eyes as he spoke. Till had longish light brown hair, that had a tendency to fall in his light blue eyes more than it stayed out. He was given dominant cheekbones and nose, with a strong square jaw.

"That shit was fuckin' scary," Doug mumbled. "Who told you to pick those up?"

"Fergie." Fergie as in Fergus Colm, their boss. Fergie had his fingers into everything imaginable around Charlestown and Boston. His greed knew no bounds. They were invested in strip clubs, thieving, drugs, hustling, murder, fighting, and anything else people had to offer. Jem and Doug's fathers had been in the business and they were pushed to follow in their footsteps. Joining up with Fergie was seen as continuing a legacy and seeing had how neither one new what else to do – it was what they continued on with. Fergie was the unsuspecting power house leader that cut roses by day and bashed heads in by night. He was feared among the city as no one to fuck with. Till learned it the hard way. He wasn't carrying on a legacy by working for Fergie – he was paying off a debt. His parents had a strong pill addiction, as well as a gambling problem. The pills eventually wore them into the ground, leaving their livers out to dry, crippling the both of them. When they had to stop working, Fergie showed up to collect his due, only to find out there was nothing to collect. His father's liver transplant failed within days, his mother's was a success, but she was never quite right after it all. Regardless of her disability, Fergie went after her anyway and after Till's proposition to work for him – he saw Till's talent and gobbled him up.

"Good thing ya listened to him," Jem told him, lighting up a cigarette. "Jesus knows that man's one ass chewin' away from a fuckin' heart attack." Doug laughed lightly and nodded. They both knew Fergie too well. They each took a long swig of their drinks and stared out into the crowd around them. "I really need to turn my money around," Jem muttered, blowing out a cloud of smoke as he spoke.

"Me too," added Doug, patting the pocket of his jacket where an overly stuffed wallet sat.

"Wanna hit up the casino?" Till asked, hoping they would respond with a yes. Jem and Doug had become Till's friend over the last few years, taking him in and showing him the ropes of the business. Jem went to prison for ten years after manslaughter. He committed the murder to protect Doug after he had heard rumors about some kid carrying a gun around. The two of them had been raised together and considered each other family. Till couldn't help but feel as though he was intruding sometimes. There were no secrets between the two of them, they were the backbone when the other one needed it.

"Nah," Jem answered, a trail of a smile on his face. Till braced himself internally for the rest of Jem's answer, knowing he wasn't going to like it. "I wanna go watch some dancin'." Till stopped midway through bringing his bottle to his mouth and shook his head, knowing exactly what that meant. Only three things seemed to satisfy Jem: drinking, cocaine, and strippers.

"No, man. Come on," Till breathed, a slight pleading in his tone that he couldn't mask. "You know it makes me uncomfortable." Till's sister, Alina, was a regular weekend dancer on the weekends. It was all a part of Jem's "Protect the Finnelly Family From Being Murdered by Fergie Plan." Alina danced for the extra cash and brought in as many patrons as she possibly could. Her dancer's body from years of dancing classes and dancing school had paid off for them. Men in the area ate her up, her curly blonde hair, blue eyes, tanned and taut body.

"You can cover your eyes, big boy," Doug teased, patting Till's shoulder with a snort.

"I can buy ya a fuckin' blindfold, Till, would that help?" Jem sneered, adding to the flame.

"Shut tha fuck up," Till quipped, glowering at the both of them. If Jem had left Alina alone all of those years ago, they wouldn't have the dilemma they found themselves in.

"Calm down, ya big push over," Doug told him, shoving Till's shoulder this time to add to his words. Till sat still for a moment as they gulped down the rest of their beers.

"Come on, Tillie," Jem sang, drunkenly. "Let's go get some titties shoved in our face." He pulled Till out of his chair and ushered him to the car. Doug and Jem sat up front, laughing at some joke between the two of them as Till mindlessly stared out of the window at the passing buildings and cars. He would have laughed along with them any other time, but he wasn't in the mood. "What's up with ya back there?" Jem asked after a few minutes. Till shrugged, quietly debating if he wanted to open his mouth or not.

"How would you feel if your sister was a stripper an' your friends wanted ta go there all of the time?" Till asked, watching as Jem turned around to face him.

"My sister? As in Krista?" Jem questioned, his eyebrows furrowing as if the concept of him having family was new to him. He and Krista never got along quite well. She was heavily into drugs and not smart about it. Sometimes it was a surprise to him that she hadn't been thrown in jail for longer than a few days. Anything he ever offered to her, she eventually fucked up at some point. She ran drugs for a week until she was coming back empty handed – without money and without the product.

"Yes." Jem laughed at Till's reply, slapping Doug's arm as he drove. Till's face set into a grim line, his jaw clenched a few times.

"Can you fuckin' believe Tillie right now, Doug?" he asked, through a laugh.

"Yeah, I fuckin' hear him, but I'm drivin' over here, so keep ya fuckin' hands to yourself," Doug snapped, casting a scowl in Jem's direction. Jem slouched against the seat, laughing.

"I would never let my sister become a stripper," Jem answered after a while, still somewhat breathless from his laughing. He withdrew a cigarette from his black track pants pocket and stuffed it into his mouth, taking a long drag off of it before speaking again. "She may be a worthless piece of shit, but that's something I'd never let her do." The thought of men feeling up on her as she was all doped and clueless – it rattled the monster in his gut. Alina was different in his eyes. He loved her and would do anything he could to protect her, but she was smart for the most part. She had a good head on her shoulders and knew when things weren't quite right, unlike Krista who would do anything for a few extra bucks.

Jem's words did nothing but anger Till. He didn't understand how Jem's supposed girlfriend could be subject to stripping, but not his own sister. Alina wasn't supposed to be doing this – she was supposed to be off instructing a dance studio, married to a nice guy, with a few kids on top of her daughter Gia – yet, she wasn't. She was dancing at a strip club to help balance out the debt and keep her head afloat. She had to do something to keep the scum of the city out of her life and working full time as a waitress didn't pay much.

"Funny how all that works out," Till breathed, his eyes still wondering the outside world.

"Watch it," Doug warned, feeling the electricity in the car. He knew it would only take one small word and the electricity would catch fire.

"She could have said no," Jem quipped, flicking his cigarette out of the window.

"I'm sure she would have said no, had Fergie not threatened the life of her daughter."

"Hey!" Jem barked, spinning around in his seat, his index finger pointing at Till. "I tried ta get Fergie ta back off! I can only say so much without gettin' my own ass on his shit list."

"What a shame that would have been – to take a bullet for someone you love."

"I didn't fuckin' know her then, Till."

"You know her now." He clenched and unclenched his jaw as Till spoke, his nose flaring as the anger and heat flooded through him. Fire burned in his eyes. Till was relatively larger than the 5'10'' Irishman, standing close to 6'3''. His age playing into his favor as well – he was 24, ten years Jem's junior.

"And how does me bein' dead help her out?" Jem asked, trying to refrain from yelling. "'Cause ya know if I went against anything Fergie says – he'd have my goddamn head on a platter."

"I'm jus' sayin', Jem," Till responded. "Think of how it would be."

"An' think of how it is," he snarled, whipping back around in his seat.

The rest of the car ride was silent. Usually they all joked around or talked about what else was going on in their lives outside of work, but they were all fighting the urge to flip out on each other.

Inside of the strip club, the same ambiance had carried over from the bar. It was dark, smoky, loud, and smelly at the same time. Smells of perfume, alcohol, and sweat filled the room in a thick cloud that was only overpowered by the feeling of desperation in the place. A stage sat in the back of the building, a bar in the middle, with mirror topped counters surrounding it. Black leather booths lined the area with small tables. Dancers were gliding across the counter in front of the patrons at the bar while a busty brunette danced along the stage. Women were peppered through the crowd, flirting with men. Till breathed a sigh of relief as he met Alina's gaze from the bar. She was wearing a tight white cut off tank top with a purple bra and purple boyshorts. Her make-up was overly done up in shades of purple, smearing out like a smoky eye. The men sat down at three open stools facing Alina. A dancer that Jem liked to take home occasionally sashayed onto the pole in front of them, eyeballing Jem with a smirk. Alina smiled brightly at the three men.

"Tha fuck are you doin' behind the bar?" Jem asked. "It's a Friday night."

"It's nice ta see you, too, Jem. Thanks for askin' how I am," she bit back, wiping out the inside of a glass with a towel.

"Don't fuckin' mock me right now, Ali," he warned.

"A girl called off an' considerin' none of these geniuses knows how to mix a drink – I volunteered." Regardless of the concealer under her eyes, the bags were apparent. She had been on her feet since 8 that morning and she was tired.

"Who's got shorty?" Till asked over the music, as she sat glasses down on the counter before them. He always used a codename for Gia, knowing that with their situations and with the ears around them it was never good for people to know about her daughter.

"With Paddy," she replied, sliding three opened beers across the counter next to the glasses.

"Paddy Conlon?" he asked, trying to make small talk. He, Alina, and Gia lived together, but he hardly ever saw either one of them with the amount of work he was stuck doing.

"That'd be the one," she quipped. "He's watching her until I get off." Till longed to help her and spend quality time with his niece, but he also needed to help protect them.

"How's he doing?"

"Pretty well." She sprayed and rubbed some Windex into the counter as Jem threw a hundred dollar bill up on the counter for the dancer to take. She dropped down and gave him a wink as she picked it up. Jem smiled wildly, watching her carefully place it in the fold of her white thong. "Keep starin' – maybe she'll grow a third boob," Alina bit, tossing the Windex down under the counter with a loud thump. Being Jem's girlfriend wasn't glamorous by means. There was picking up after him when he had too much to drink, picking up after him he had too much coke, watching him fuck countless other women, dealing with his bullshit, and never knowing if he was ever going to be picked up again. Jem dropped gaze down to Alina's and smirked.

"Jealous?"

"Not in the slightest," she replied. "What difference does it matter? You've got enough notches in that belt of yours." Doug snorted as Till sat silently, trying not to laugh.

"Watch your fuckin' mouth," Jem snapped, any trace of humor leaving his face.

"Truth hurts I guess," she shrugged, walking off to fill a round for a group of frat boys. Tears threatened to fall as she walked the pitcher out to the table. She straightened her shoulders and pulled herself up a little taller. Her heart couldn't be broken by Jem Coughlin – it had been broken years ago, long before Jem, by a name she refused to even say in her mind. He stopped contacting her two years into his disappearance with his mother. She sent letter after letter, only for each one to be returned with "RETURN TO SENDER" printed across the top. Alina tried to swindle information out of his brother, Brendan, and his father, Paddy. Neither one of them knew anything – it was almost as if Tommy had died with his mother.

There wasn't a day that passed that she didn't think of him – what he might be doing, if he was married, if he had kids. She knew these were all things that she would probably never know and that was just life. She kept in contact with Paddy, who had somewhat became a grandfather to Gia. After he sobered up, he became a babysitter for Alina. He said it gave him something to do with his time. Brendan didn't want much to do with Paddy and since Gia's father left shortly after she was born – Gia didn't have any grandparents to call her own. Alina knew about Paddy's past. She had seen it for herself plenty of times, but he had changed and she could see it. He treated Gia as if she was his own grandchild – taking her to the movies, out to breakfast, and out to Sunday school so Alina could sleep in after a long Saturday night shift. Paddy was Gia's Poppa and no amount of words could change it.

Alina slipped into the front door of her three bedroom townhouse, bundled up in sweatpants and a hoodie to keep warm from the cold. Paddy was seated by the television, next to the stairs, a book in his hands. He looked a lot older than what he was from years of fighting, drinking, and working. He smiled at her, his small blue eyes shutting as he yawned. He was grateful he only lived a few streets away.

"I turned the heat up a few," he explained, pushing the stool of the recliner down. "It was getting chilly up there."

"That's fine," she told him with a smile. She pulled her hoodie off and sat down across from him on the couch. He shut the book he was reading and sat it on the table, folding his glasses to place on top of it.

"How was work?" Alina shrugged and folded her hoodie up.

"Same old." He smirked and took a sip of coffee.

"You'll miss it one day." Paddy was growing anxious to find things to do in his spare time between watching Gia, reading books, going to church, and being a mentor for the AA meetings.

"I doubt that, Paddy." She smiled as he bobbed his head.

"I said the same thing at your age."

"Ya mean you were 28 once?" she teased. He laughed.

"Believe it or not, yes. I had Brendan when I was 25, so, yes, I do believe I have been 28." He didn't say Tommy's name around her. He felt like it was his fault they weren't together. And in reality it was. If he hadn't abused his wife or his children, Tommy might have stayed. He didn't remember much about his life before he stopped drinking, but he vaguely recalled times he watched Tommy with Alina – he remember his son running around the house swearing he was going to marry her just as Brendan swore he would marry his girlfriend. Without Paddy saying it Alina calculated the ages in her head, factoring Tommy and Paddy's ages . The change in her demeanor gave him a clue as to what she was thinking about. Paddy paused, wondering if he should tell her he was in town. Tommy was angry at even the mere sound of her name. If he knew Paddy had told her that he was back… He stopped thinking about it. He couldn't risk Tommy disappearing for another fourteen years. "I'm sorry, Ali," he whispered, knowing that it wasn't enough. He avoided eye contact with her, disappointed that his drinking had destroyed more lives than he thought.

"It's okay," she mumbled, closing her eyes for a moment. "Do ya think he thinks about us?" she asked, curiously.

"I would like to think so." A half smiled pulled on the corner of her mouth.

"Do ya think he has a family now? Or a wife?" She opened her eyes and looked at him. She hated thinking about it, but it had been so long, she could only imagine that was the reality.

"No, not if it couldn't be with you," he admitted, knowing he was telling the truth. Alina smiled, then shook her head.

"I suppose we'll never know, huh?"

"I suppose not."


	3. Chapter 3: 14 Years

**Have the plot figured out… writing this along with La Vie at the same time, so cut me some slack! :) More updates coming soon, I promise! Thank you! **

**(Zero editing has been done to this)**

**- D**

The Monday morning flow of the diner was busy, as usual. Gia was off at school and Till was out tending to his "gravel" business. Alina scoffed loudly as she picked through her tip off of a table in the break room. "Three dollars for a thirty dollar order. Genius," she breathed, stuffing the bills down into the pocket of her black apron. She looked in the mirror and tightened the bun on her head, catching any runny make-up under her eyes. She washed her hands quickly before returning to the floor. Retirees sat in every space imaginable.

"Hey Ali," chimed a young bright voice, belonging to Rachel Barr, one of Alina's high school drop-out co-workers. Rachel was bounding late, as usual.

"Hey Rachel," Alina huffed, sweating as she zipped around the tables, carrying tray after tray out to their appropriate tables. Rachel and Alina had become good friends the last three years, even though Rachel was only 20. She had dropped out of school to help take care of her parents. They had a lot in common despite their 8 year age difference. "Can ya get table five some coffee, please?"

"Sure," she answered, heading behind the counter.

"Alina, Paddy's at table thirty," the hostess, Lara, told her. Alina glanced in Paddy's direction and gave him a small wave. He returned it and stared down at his menu. He went into the diner at least three times a week. It was better than making his own meals, which he was horrible at… He was surprised Brendan had survived all those years there with him cooking. She placed the order for a table and went over to greet him and take his order, placing a pot of coffee and a mug down with creamer.

"How are ya, Paddy?" she asked, pulling out her notepad.

"You know," he answered with a small laugh.

"Tired?"

"You got it," he laughed. She smiled and shook her head.

"What are ya lookin' at orderin'? Gonna step outside tha box today?" He ordered one of two things, regardless of looking at the menu – pancakes and bacon or a burger and fries.

"Pancakes and bacon. Not feeling too adventurous today." He handed her the menu and smiled again, setting to work on his coffee.

"Gotcha." She scribbled his order out quickly, just writing down Paddy on the note for the cook. "Let me know when ya need more coffee." Paddy nodded silently as he took a slow sip from his mug. She patted his shoulder gently and disappeared to put his order in. Rachel rushed over to the register beside her, her red hair matching her beet red complexion.

"What's tha excuse for bein' late today?" Alina asked, punching Paddy's order to the turnstile.

"My car," Rachel sighed.

"Your car?"

"Yeah, somethin' with the starter. I don't know. I had to ride the bus an' you know how the buses are around here. My dad said it'd take about 500 to fix an' you know I ain't got no 500 dollars layin' around to use." Alina frowned and nodded, hearing the distress in her friend's voice. "I'm so tired of bein' broke," she whispered.

"It'll get better," Alina assured her, giving her a small hug.

"You always say that!" snaps Rachel with a smirk.

"Ya never know! Miracles happen every day!"

"Where? Obviously not in this damn city!" Alina smiled and shrugged her shoulders. "Get back to work Miss America!" Alina laughed and sat back out into the wilderness, filling up glasses or delivering food to tables. The door chimed open and close countless times, so often that they grew tired of turning to see who was walking in and out.

**XXXXX**

Alina disappeared into the break room again for a quick drink when Lara popped into the doorway.

"Alina, Paddy had a visitor," she stated.

"A visitor?" Her eyebrow rose out of curiosity.

"Yes… he's not so bad on the eyes either." Alina processed what Lara said. Paddy never had visitors, unless it was Gia or Till. There was no way Brendan would come out to visit or even know where in the hell to find Paddy.

"I'll be there in a sec," Alina told her, washing her hands. Lara closed the door and Alina scowled at herself in the mirror. With a quick swipe she yanked a paper towel out of the dispenser and dried her hands, running through every person she could think of that they would both know. Throwing the paper towels into the waste basket by the door, she stepped back onto the floor, training her eyes in the direction of Paddy's table. Her body seized up, her eyes landing on the older familiar face of Tommy. Tears rimmed her eyes. Paddy turned in her direction and frowned. Tommy's eyes were focused carefully on his father's face. He seemed completely unlike himself, agitated and tired.

"What tha fuck are you lookin' at?" Tommy asked loudly, snapping his fingers to regain his attention. He turned to follow Paddy's gaze and felt his stomach tense up into a hundred different knots. "Shit," he mumbled. Their eyes met, forming an unspoken conversation between the two of them. It didn't take more than a second's glance to know that Alina was beyond pissed. Alina's eyes drilled into him. It was unnerving. He nervously swallowed and looked away. "Why didn't you fuckin' tell me she worked here?" Tommy growled, staring at the fake granite of the table top as he hunched over.

"You didn't leave me any room to tell you," Paddy answered lowly. Alina stood in the doorway, watching him hunch over, not returning his gaze to hers. The anger swirled and bubbled within her. Silently, she walked to their table… keeping her pace slow and even, ignoring all of the patrons who were requesting things as she walked by. When she stopped at the side of the table, neither man would look at her.

"Fourteen fuckin' years," she spat. "An' you won't even fuckin' look at me." Swallowing every yell she wanted to release. "Need a refill on that coffee, Paddy?" she asked, her face red, tears still on the edge of her eyes.

"No," he answered, barely shaking his head no. She stood there fuming, feeling such a large amount of emotions that they shifted continuously, allowing each one to rear its head inside of her – anger, hurt, relief, and happiness. Her mouth opened and closed twice, each word hanging on the tip of her tongue, but nothing seemed right to say, so she settled.

"What tha fuck are ya doin' here, Tommy?" Alina demanded.

"I didn't know you worked here," he replied. She laughed angrily.

"Guess ya wouldn't, huh?"

"Alina…" he spoke her name slowly, raising his eyes to look at her. Her lower lip quivered and she shook her head, hoping it would shake the tears away.

"No," she mumbled, closing her eyes. "Why – are – you – here?" she ordered, tapping the table with her hand.

"Boston's my home," he answered with a shrug. "Where else would I go?"

"Wherever tha hell ya been tha last fourteen years seemed like a good enough fuckin' place," she spat, the fire drying her tears.

"Alina…" he started again.

"Don't fuckin' Alina me, Tommy Conlon. You don't fuckin' know me." She pointed her finger in his face and scowled. "You don't know a goddamn thing about me. We're nothin' more than two people who know each other's names. Ya fuckin' got me?" He nodded and looked away. "Sit here an' eat your goddamn meal with Paddy, but don't even dare ta so much as fuckin' look in my direction. You're as good as dead ta me." The words hit him right where she hoped they would. He felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. Paddy stared at his folded hands and refused to look at either one of them. Rachel paused at Alina's side, her hands on her hips.

"You okay, babe?" she whispered, eyeing Paddy and Tommy.

"Yeah. Jus' do me a favor an' watch over Paddy's table until he's finished," Alina answered, thrusting his order number into Rachel's hand.

"You got it." She spun on her heel and marched in the direction of the break room, untying her apron from around her waist.

"I'm takin' an early lunch. If ya don't like it, fuckin' fire me," she announced, barreling through the door. A few of the other servers made faces at each other, already swamped with customers of their own.

Tommy looked at Paddy across from him, his face serious, his nostrils flared… jaw set. He pulled a tooth pick out from the small dispenser next to the salt and pepper shakers. The wood in his mouth gave him something to chew on, something to release the pressure.

"Anything you'd like to say?" Tommy rumbled, examining his father's face. Paddy released a pent up breath and shook his head. "Didn't fuckin' think so." And with that, Tommy left him there in the diner, to eat alone, just as he always did.

Outsider, he pulled a dark gray beanie over his short brown hair. He glanced down an alley beside the diner and made out Alina, smoking wildly on a cigarette. He didn't know what to say to her. Didn't know how to approach her and apologize for what he had done. She had every right to act the way she did. Tommy stopped at the opening of the alley and stood there. Alina's eyes met his through the cloud of smoke that had lingered around her. Muttering under her breath, she turned away from him. He took a shaky step forward and thought of the beach once again… he stepped away, walking briskly down the sidewalk away from her, letting his instincts guide him. He wanted to let some aggression out, and the only place he could do so properly was at the gym.

XXXXX

Alina stubbed the cigarette out on the wall beside her and flicked the butt down the alley. Her hands fumbled mindlessly in her dress pants pocker, searching for her old coping mechanism – Xanax. With a loud, irritated sigh she pounded her hands on her locker inside the break room. "Stop," she whispered to herself.

"Hey!" Rachel exclaimed, throwing the door open. "Who was that!?"

"Some guy," Alina answered, waving her hand around, her eyes not making contact with Rachel's.

"I gathered that much." Adjusting her bun to keep her hands busy, Alina stared at herself in the mirror, desperately trying to hold on to herself. "Who is he though?" Alina exhaled, she knew Rachel wouldn't give up.

"Tommy Conlon."

"Paddy had another son!?"

"Yep."

"Where's he been? Like – why are you so upset?"

"I don't know where he's been. I don't frankly give a fuck."

"Obviously you do or you wouldn't be so mad."

"He was my boyfriend way back in tha day."

"Oh."

"Yep," she quipped. "First time I've seen him in fourteen years. He promised me he'd come back to me an' all that fancy shit." She trailed off… remembering their last night together. "Didn't fuckin' happen, as you can see."

"What a prick," Rachel added with disgust.

"Tell me about it." Retying her apron around her waist, Alina rechecked her face in the mirror.

"Paddy's still out there. Tommy left right after you came back here."

"I know. I saw him."

"Where?"

"He passed me while I was in tha alley." Rachel's eyes widened. "He didn't say anything. He knows me too well." With a small laugh, they both returned to work.

**XXXXX**

Later that night Alina slaved over the stove in the kitchen, standing on her aching feet while she made spaghetti. She was more than ready for her two days off. Gia sat at the kitchen table, working through her math homework.

"How was school today, sweetie?" Alina asked, draining the grease from the hamburger down into the sink.

"It was okay," Gia answered, her voice bored.

"Do anything excitin'?"

"Not really."

"Well, why not?"

"Because it's school, mom," Gia snickered. "It's always boring."

"Well, ya never know," Alina teased back with a shrug.

Till and Jem stumbled into the kitchen, laughing loudly and drunkenly.

"Hi sweetie," Jem sand, puckering his lips out towards Alina. The Guinness on his breath was enough to knock down five men. Scrunching her nose up, she kissed him on the cheek.

"Hello," she replied.

"How're my two favorite women?" yelled Till, pulling Gia into a large over exaggerative hug.

"Tired," answered Alina.

"Bored," Gia added.

"The night has just started!" Till yelled, shaking Gia slightly.

"I'm six, Uncle Till."

"True," he laughed. She smiled and giggled as he sat her back down in her chair. "Whatchu workin' on today?" he slurred, hunching over her shoulder.

"Math."

"Heard ya had a scare today at tha diner," Jem started, talking quietly as Till let Gia teach him all about fractions. He stared at her as she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. She avoided his blue stare and stirred the spaghetti noodles carefully as if they would explode. He stepped into her, pushing his hips into her side, willing her to look at him. "What happened?" he asked, scared that one of his lowlife addict customers had went in and harassed her. Jem was supposed to help protect her. He _was _her boyfriend after all. The longer she waited to respond, the more aggravated her became.

"It was nothin'."

"Alina…" he said her voice as a warning. Things were going to progress into a storm if she didn't diffuse him.

"It was nothin', Jem. Jus' some guy I hadn't seen in a while." Color faded from his face. The worst of all names popped into his head – people who had threatened her before, her old drug dealer – or – the worst – Fergie.

"Who?" It wasn't a question. It was a request. He needed a name. He needed to know. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

"Tommy Conlon," Alina whispered.

"Tommy Conlon?" he repeated, confused, trying to think of people by that name. He had never heard the name before.

"Say what?" Till exclaimed, popping his head up. "Tommy Conlon?!" Alina shut her eyes again, fearful that Jem would soon become filled with jealous rage over the arrival of Alina's ex-boyfriend.

"Who tha fuck is he?" Alina turned to look at Till, her eyes pleading him not to tell. Till shrugged, looking between the both of them.

"Used to be a fighter back in the day. He's a nobody – really, just an old friend that I thought was dead," Till explained. Jem nodded, appeased by the answer. He slowly blew out a mouthful of air, relieved that no one had threatened his girlfriend.

"Anything else happen?" Jem asked.

"Nope," Alina answered, turning back to the stove.

XXXXX

Jem left shortly after dinner, claiming he had some extra business to take care of. Business that mainly revolved around getting some from a girl that lived down the street. Gia sat in the living room watching television, leaving Till and Alina alone in the kitchen. Till sat at the table, drinking coffee, all form of drunkenness gone. Aline was drying dishes, still trying to occupy her hands.

"What did he say?" Till asked, only really wanting to know what the hell Tommy had to say for himself after fourteen years. Alina raised and dropped her shoulders quickly, sitting the plate she had been drying off, up inside of the cabinet.

"Nothin'."

"Nothing?!" he shouted, about to jump out of his seat. Alina shushed him loudly, pointing to the living room, warning him not to disturb Gia. "Nothing?!" he repeated in a whisper, hunching over the table. "What – the – hell?!"

"Beats me, Till," she muttered, taking a sip of her own coffee.

"After fourteen years? Nothing?"

"What would you expect him ta say?"

"Oh, maybe, 'I'm sorry for being such a closed off douche for the last fourteen years and all. I fell into a coma and couldn't get back home. By the way, I'm still madly in love with you and never stopped thinking about you.' You know, something like that."

"You've seen too many romantic comedies."

"Ha. Ha," he sarcastically laughed, shaking his head. She laughed along with him, still happy Jem hadn't broken Till of his hopeless romantic side. He laughed after a minute and shook his head. "You actually might be right…" he admitted.

"Some woman will love it one day, trust me."

"Hope so," he mumbled, rubbing his face.


	4. Chapter 4: Wicked Games

**I know, it's been a long time. A real long time. I haven't forgotten you guys! I am three exams away from completing my first semester of nursing school! YAY. It's been crazy. Been writing to help release some tension. Here ya go! I don't have anyone to edit this or proof-read so, your fate is in your hands right now… or something like that! Thanks! - D**

The week passed along quickly, Alina trudging through the days. She shoved a pile of laundry across her bed and nervously eyed the clock. She wasn't sure Paddy was going to show up and the neighborhood girl still hadn't showed up. Pulling on a pair of sweatpants she went down to meet Gia in the living room. Gia was coiled up on the couch watching cartoons, her hair still damp from her bath. The clock from down the hall chimed 7, just as Paddy rang the doorbell. She released a large breath and smiled to herself.

"Hey," she greeted him, letting him inside. "Surprised to see you here."

"I came to apologize," Paddy explained, holding his head down, fiddling his hat in between his hands.

"It's okay, you didn't expect him to come in there. He probably told you not to tell me he was back anyway. It's alright." She had a lot of time to think about what had happened and came to the conclusion that none of that situation could be blamed on Paddy. Wiping his eyes, he walked by Alina, smiling at Gia as she plopped back down onto the couch, holding a board game in her lap. "She's eaten dinner already. There's leftovers if you're hungry."

"Thank you."

"No, thank you, Paddy," she corrected him, giving him a short kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you two later," Alina told Gia, kissing the top of her head before leaving.

**XXXXX**

The strip club was packed, like most Thursday nights were. Men encompassed every available stool, booth, and chair available, submitting the most desperate men to stand. Alina had dressed herself in her trademark outfit, nude pasties with a pair of white boyshorts, her dancing name – Angel, bedazzled on her backside in cursive. A fake golden halo hung over her head, flopping as she walked. Using her shoulder she balanced a heavy tray with her hands, carrying it to a group of Fergie's men. Some of the newer men thank her graciously as their beers are placed before them. Each one of them feared the wraith of Jem. With a slight nod, she smiled at them, regardless of the aching in her feet. The pain doesn't matter, only the appearance. She placed the tray down on the counter and swiveled at the sound of a whistle coming from a bouncer behind her. Avoiding a large, annoyed sigh hanging in her throat, she turned and strutted over to the man.

"Yeah, Bo?" she asked, standing beside him, facing out to the crowd.

"You free right now?" he asked, peering across the room at a few men who were starting to get a little too friendly with a dancer.

"Yeah… why?" she asked confusedly.

"Private dance. Tony said to surprise the guy. I would'a asked someone else, but everyone else is full up."

"Any requests?"

"Tony said to surprise him."

"Right," she grumbled, flipping a hand through her hair as she nodded. "What room?"

"Two."

"Gotcha. Give me about five minutes, will ya?"

**XXXXX**

Hurrying off into the dressing room, she pulled on a cowboy hay, a plaid shirt, and a pile of Daisy Dukes with cowboy boots. She slinked into room two, just under five minutes. The patron sat in the darkness, his position anything but relaxed. The posture of the man was slouched, his fists clenched on the arm rests of the velvet recliner. She tapped a button on the wall and listened as Wicked Games by The Weeknd began to play…

**XXXXX**

**Tommy's POV**

**XXXXX**

I pulled my beanie down over my damp hair, still soaked with sweat. My duffel bag fell heavily on my right shoulder, almost sending me to the ground. I started to walk down the street, only to stop and recall one simple fact: I have nowhere to go. I couldn't go back to Pop's after the diner incident, because there wasn't any way in hell I could keep my shit straight and I definitely couldn't afford another night at the hotel. Who in the hell still lives around here? Joey? Adam? Spencer? Yanking my duffel bag around to lay on my stomach, I scrambled through a few wads of clothes to find an envelope with Spencer's address on it.

The home was a small brick one story, no plants or decorations – and no lights on inside either. Christ, I mumbled, rubbing the ice crystals off of my face. Exhaling, I approached the house and knocked three times, loudly. Tapping my foot, I glanced down both ways of the street, growing more and more anxious.

"Come on, Riggs," I muttered. I didn't want to end up crawling back into my old room at home. My pride was too much for that. The door opened slowly, only a crack before shooting wide open. A ragged half shell of my best friend stood before me, Spencer Riggs. "Hey man!" I chirped, a smile filling my face.

"Hey!" Spencer yelled excitedly, blinking a few times, the haze of sleepiness fading away. "What're ya doin' here!?" His Boston accent was extremely heavy, muddling almost all of his words together. He outstretched his rail thin arms and pulled me in for a slight hug.

"Just came back home," I answered with a shrug, as I stepped back.

"Well, get ya ass in here." He pushed the door open wider, ushering me inside. Spender was muscular, but incredibly thin with dull brown eyes and short, baby fine brown hair. His body was decorated with tattoos, all ranging from patriotic, tribal, and Bostonian. He pulled his too large gray sweatpants back onto his bony hips and grinned. "Where in tha hell have ya been?"

"Anywhere an' everywhere," I answered. He kicked the door shut with his heel and folded his small frame against the door jamb of the entry way.

"Yeah," he agreed with a nod. "Last we talked ya was on your way ta Fallujah."

"I did all that." I wasn't in any state to talk about the war. Adjusting the bag on my shoulder I tried to keep the awkwardness at bay. "Look, I don't wanna waste your time – I just didn't know if you still had an extra room I could crash in?" I swallowed hard to stop myself from yawning and gave Spencer a small smile.

"Aw, yeah! Sure! Come on down here, man," he told me, motioning for me to follow him down the hallway. "Ya know ya could'a called, I would'a left the door open for ya."

"I don't have a cellphone."

"Ah, yeah. Where ya been stayin'?" Spencer stopped in front of a small bedroom with a twin bed inside of it. My face must have been off putting because I watched him frown for a second and didn't press me for an answer. "I've seen Alina around. I know all that. Shit's been rough on her." I bowed my head to hide my guilt and adjusted my bag again. "We don't gotta talk about that, but remember I'm like ya brother. Ain't much stayin' outta my reach with ya." Spencer leaned in and flicked the light on. "Sorry tha bed's shit, but it's a bed, ya know? Bathroom an' closet, dresser an' all that…" he explained, waving a hand around. "Got some extra clothes in there. Help yourself ta whatever, jus' beware of the Misses." My eyebrows shot up in shock.

"_The Misses_?" Spencer's face reddened.

"Yeah," he answered, shyly. "I got married last year." Christ, I'm terrible. How did I not know this?

"Congratulations, man!" I cheered, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Spencer was the last of us that I imagined married. He was always chasing tail or messing around with some girl.

"Thanks, Conlon," he replied, ducking his head down.

"Nah, man, thank you. I appreciate this." I threw my bag into the room and smiled.

"Don't worry about it." He smiled widely and shook his head at me again. "Glad ta have ya home again." Spencer yawned and glanced at his phone in his pocket. "Damn, well… I gotta get ta work in tha mornin' so make ya'self comfortable an' I'll see ya later."

"Night, Riggs."

"Night, Conlon." He smiled and slapped the wall once before retreating down the rest of the hallway to his room.

**XXXXX**

The next day I woke up to an empty house with a post-it on my door letting me know that the both of them were at work. I'm a frickin' teenager again. I showered and drank some coffee, trying to plan out my empty day. The gym was first on my list. A newspaper laid out on the table caught my eye, the wanted page glaring at me like a scorned woman. I pushed the paper across the table and glared right back at it. All I could see were dead end jobs, all entry level, all minimum wage, each one… Bet your ass you'll never find me in a job like that. I fumbled around in the closet in my new room, balancing the coffee mug in my hand as I tried to find a shirt that wasn't small.

I walked down to the gym again and was met with yelling and cheering. Men were lined up around the outside of a ring, watching as two men grappled themselves into a corner. Throwing my stuff into a small cubby I walked up to the ring and smirked as the men fell to the mat with a thud.

"What's all this?" I asked the guy next to me who was drinking some fancy ass protein shake.

"Training," he answered curtly. No shit, detective, you formulate all that on your own? I looked at him sarcastically and raised my eyebrows. "For Sparta," he added, sounding as if he was drained of all of his energy by talking with me. "On the board," he sighed, throwing a finger behind us. Turning around I caught the eye of the sign and worked my way over.

XXXXX

Later on that evening I met Spencer back at his house and his wife, Erin. She was baking a casserole and cleaning the living room, leaving the both of us to sit in the kitchen to drink his post-work beer. "Where you workin' now?" I asked, tossing the cap into the trash can next to us.

"An auto body shop down tha road," he answered. "You're lookin' at tha head mechanic," he bragged with a wiggle of his brow.

"That supposed to mean something?" I joked.

"Shut up, ya cock!" he yelled, laughing, throwing a half-assed punch at me. It forced me to laugh and buck away from him. "Ya been down at tha gym?" I nodded stiffly as I swallowed a gulp of beer. "Ya know, there's a few places around here that still do amateur fights for cash, if you're lookin'." Perking up in my chair a little more, I sank the rest of my beer and nodded.

"You know me too well." Spencer smiled.

"Damn straight I do. Tommy Conlon ain't a man to be ruled by codes, jobs, and bosses." Except a fighting manager, I added in my head. I sighed thinking back to the Sparta sign. It was months away, but the requirements – it was too much for me. Sure, the ten million dollar award was nice, but all the promotions, ass-kissing, and socializing – it made me cringe.

"What do you have around here?" A sick, small smirk formed on the right side of Spencer's mouth.

"I'll show ya later," he answered with a wink.

**XXXXX**

We bounced from bar to bar, making deals, signing me up for every fight night available for the next two months. Our last stop, we pulled into a strip club. "What're we doin' here?" I asked, scowling at group of loud men near the entrance. The Candy Shop is blinking overhead in pink neon lights with candy decorating the roof of the place.

"Gettin' ya jobs, what's it look like?"

"You – trying to catch a glimpse of tits like you're 12 goddamn years old." Spencer snorted and hit the steering wheel with his hand. "What?" I asked, honestly through a smirk.

"You," Spencer replied with another laugh.

"I'm just being honest. This place is –" I paused and watched a group of drunken fat guys stumble to their cars "-desperate. We have no problem seeing tits or ass. You're fuckin' married, dude. This is what single men who live at home with mommy do – not grown ass men."

"Chill there, Mrs. Hilary Clinton. We're just here to get ya a fight is all," he explained, no laughter in his voice. "We meet Tony an' we're outta here."

"You mean it?"

"Scout's fuckin' honor," he mocked, holding a hand over his chest. I laughed and punched his arm.

"That's not the way they fucking pledge you moron," I chuckled, hitting him again. "But, I mean it… in and out… no funny business."

"No funny business," he repeated.

**XXXXX**

Once inside, all I wanted to do was leave. We were escorted by some girl with a car name to a corner booth and asked to wait. I stared down at the table top as countless bare chested women sashayed by. Spencer harmlessly flirted with them, whistling as a few "prize" ones strutted by. After five excruciating minutes, the booth across from us was over stuffed with the man they called Tony. He was extremely overweight, his hair slicked back, face round and large.

"You must be Tommy Riordan," Tony sputtered, dabbing sweat from his brow.

"Yeah," I answered with one curt nod.

"Hear you're one hell of a fighter." I nodded again. "We do fights here on Saturday night. This Saturday is already booked, but I can put ya in for next week."

"Sounds good."

"Ya got any questions?"

"How much are your private dances?" Spencer stuttered. Shaking my head, I glared at him. Tony laughed for a few minutes long and hard, it was borderline cackle. "Don't give me that look, Tommy, I'm gettin' one for ya."

"Oh no," I started, holding my hands up. Tony laughed even harder.

"Afraid of women, Tommy?" Tony razzed.

"No, I just – don't do this kind of thing," I answered honestly, suddenly wishing I could disappear from the booth.

"We'll change your mind about that. Let me support out good old boys in tha forces for once. This one'll be on tha house."

"No," I insisted more harshly. Tony' cheery face dropped.

"Come on, man, it's just one dance," Spencer prodded. I could feel him trying to makeshift a way into my skin. He definitely wanted to see whatever I was about to have the _pleasure_ of seeing.

"It's rude not to accept," Tony added hastily. I could feel my jaw tighten as I looked between the two them, looking for any chink in their armor.

"Fine," I muttered, bowing my head. I know I can't piss off Tony if I want to keep money in my pocket.

**XXXXX**

The room they placed me in was a black fucking hole. Maybe three lights total in the room. The smell of perfume was overbearing and forceful, almost like a punch to the face. I adjusted myself in the large velvet recliner, waiting for something to happen. A tiny door in the corner opened, letting a petite girl in Daisy Dukes, a cowboy hat and boots enter. Sighing, I clenched my fists and hunched over, allowing my body to sink down even farther into the overused chair. She tapped a button on the wall, yanking her hat down a little lower and danced to me. I was so nervous, the heavy beat of the song hit me in my gut harder and harder. I swallowed and exhaled through my mouth as hair fell over my shoulder. The touch made me jump. I hadn't been mentally aware of her movements and she was behind me.

"You should loosen up," she whispered, rubbing my neck. Gently, I pulled up away from her touch. With a few graceful turns, the woman danced in front of me, stopping just in between my knees. Her hands untied her short plaid top and with a slight jerk of her wrist, the hat from her head was dropped onto mine. I blinked hard as I made out the shadows of the face before me. The face that had constantly haunted my dreams, the face that I had woken up to plenty of mornings, the one face that had been burning into me the last few days… It felt as though a steam roller had ran over me and parked right over my chest – it was Alina.

"Alina?!" I gasped, popping up from the chair.

"Tommy!" she yelled.

"What in the hell!?" I screamed, my voice caused her to jump and flinch away. Her hands fumbled with her shirt as she turned away from me.

"What in the fuck are ya doin' here?"

"I think I deserve to ask that question this time," I barked, throwing her hat to her feet.

"Like hell ya do," she bit back. I could feel my face grow hot.

"Why in the fuck are you workin' here, Alina?"

"Because I really enjoy gettin' felt up an' harassed every night," she snipped, shutting the music off and turning the lights on simultaneously. I rubbed my nose. Oh, how I missed her angry sarcasm. I fought a strong urge to hold her face and kiss her hard.

"You are better than this," I explained, calmer. "Just tell me why." She shrugged and stared at the floor.

"Gotta make money somehow, Tommy." When we made eye contact again, I could see even from the dull light, the glassiness in her eyes. My poor baby…

"There are other ways to make money –" I began, hoping something would click. It made me nauseous to think of what men did to her night after night.

"Please don't come in here actin' like ya know somethin' about me an' my life," she spat. She stooped and picked her hat off, knocking some dirt off of it.

"I know you better than anyone else."

"Yeah," she snorted. "You _used _to." Without another word, she turned and left the room, leaving me to drown in my problems. Rubbing my face I glanced at my reflection in the mirror on the wall and slammed my fist into it.

"Whoa! Dude!" Spencer yelled coming into the room.

"Thanks a fuckin' lot, man," I growled, taking a step towards him.

"Whoa, ya can't blame me for this! I didn't know she worked here!"

"Yeah, it seems like no one can keep a fuckin' eye on her anymore!" I yelled. "Thought you were gonna look after her for me, man!"

"I tried!" he explained, holding his hands up. "I _tried_!"

"And what the fuck happened?!"

"Fuckin' life, man," he yelled. "Fuckin' life! It's happened ta everybody. We all gotta stay alive. Tha world doesn't jus' fuckin' stop because ya left Boston, Tommy! We all can't jus' uproot and leave an' run like that, Conlon." I could feel his words more than hear them. It slapped the inside of me awake. Spencer's face fell I dropped my head. "Shit," he grumbled. "Conlon – damn it – no. _No._ I didn't mean it like that."

"Yeah, you did," I whispered.

"No, I didn't. You were savin' your mom. You didn't jus' up an' leave – "

"Yes. Yes, I did." Tucking my hands down into my jeans, I brushed past Spencer and walked out into the strip club.

"Conlon! Where're ya goin'?" Spencer hollered at me over the noise.

"I'll see ya later," I shouted back, rustling through the crowd.


	5. Chapter 5: White Knight

**Update #2! (No edits!) – Dee**

Tommy headed out to the only place he knew he could find an answer. The idea of asking Paddy was a blow to his pride, but it was necessary. He paused on the sidewalk, noticing the Cadillac wasn't in its usual place. With a small hope, he knocked on the door anyway, only to be greeted with silence. Huffing, he dropped onto the concrete step in front of the house and waited. As an hour passed, he desperately longed for alcohol, anything to keep his insides warm. Near three in the morning, the Cadillac pulled around the corner at the end of the street. Tommy rose to his feet and shuffled, pushing blood back into his system. Paddy parked and regarded his son carefully, fearful that he was drunk and ready to fight. Alina had come home crying her eyes out. Paddy couldn't understand most of it, but he got the basic facts. Paddy was definitely not in shock at the sight of his son. Paddy removed the key from the ignition and faced was before him.

"What can I help you with, Tommy?" Paddy asked, not daring to step around the car as he shut the door.

"I need you to answer some questions for me."

"About Alina?" he asked, feeling an uncomfortable aura set in.

"Yes," he answered, his voice barely above a whisper. Paddy nodded.

"Let's head inside," he suggested, walking up to let the both of them in. Tommy appeared more at ease being in the house a second time. He paused as Paddy walked by him again, trying to catch the smell of alcohol. He watched his father fumble in the kitchen tiredly, trying to make coffee.

"Where've ya been?" Tommy asked.

"Watching Gia." Puzzled, Tommy's eyebrows threaded together.

"Gia?" Paddy nodded. "Who in the fuck is Gia?"

"Alina's daughter." Tommy's mouth dropped open.

"She has a daughter?"

"Yep."

"How?" he asked, sitting down in a small wooden kitchen chair. He ran his hands over his head anxiously.

"It was an accident. She got pregnant by some punk from around here. After he found out, he bailed. Till kind of stepped in and moved in to help."

"How old is she?"

"Six." Paddy sat down across from him and slid a mug of coffee over.

"Till can't help watch her?" Paddy shook his head.

"He's got a job at night and one during the day."

"Her parents?"

"They're dead, Tommy." Feeling nauseous he pushed the coffee away. The scent was unbearable. He clenched his fists up tight, battling the urge to walk the streets, find the nearest guy, and beat him senseless. He wasted all of those years on himself when she needed him. "They died a few months before Alina got pregnant. Their bodies had had enough. Too many pills. Her life was hell for a while."

"I don't wanna hear anymore," he muttered. Paddy stifled a yawn and nodded.

"Anything else you wanna know?"

"No."

"Well, if that's it, I'm heading to bed. I've got to watch Gia again tomorrow night and she'll wear you out," he laughed. Tommy's eyes narrowed. "Feel free to stay. If not, I'll see you sometime later." He left the room slowly, leaving Tommy alone. After he heard his dad's door close, he climbed up the steps to his old room. He searched for a few minutes until he found it, the album Alina had made when they had been together for two years. It was black with hearts decorating every part of it, their initials on the front. Smiling, he opened it, staring back at a picture of them, 13 and 15, perched on an old tire swing in her backyard. He went through each picture slowly, reliving each memory. Pictures from later on in the next year littered pages. On the back cover a small note was taped to the inside…

_Tommy, I love you. Happy two years. Forever yours, Alina xoxo_

His mind went back to the incident from a few hours ago almost instantly. And with that, he slammed the album closed.

**XXXXX**

**Alina's POV**

**XXXXX**

For a noon on a Friday, the damn diner was slow. The flurries outside were draggin' us down. I refilled a few empty shakers lyin' around, tryin' ta keep myself alive. Rachel had tha day off an' two of tha other servers had spent a better part of tha mornin' bullshittin' with tha cook. The door chimed and I perked up, finally ready for a new face. I watched as tha man pulled his har off an' felt my face fall as I stared at Tommy. "Damn it," I muttered. Rollin' my eyes, I started ta climb off tha stool an' retreat ta tha break room. I didn't want ta deal with his shit again today. He hurried over an' stood before me, blockin' me from movin'.

"Please wait," he breathed, his blue eyes wide. "Please."

"Whaddya want, Conlon?" I muttered, quickly lookin' away.

"Just talk to me."

"About what?" I snipped, agitated. What did he need ta know? I mean, fuckin' honestly.

"You."

"Whaddabout me?"

"What happened to you?"

"Life," I answered, simply.

"I heard about all of that, but I want to hear it from you." I narrowed my eyes at him, tamin' tha hand that wanted ta slap him an' caress him at tha same time.

"An' what _exactly_ did ya hear?"

"About your parents and about Gia."

"An' remind me, _please_, how any of _that_ is _your_ fuckin' business."

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, Alina!" he cursed, throwin' his hands up. "I'm fucking trying here!" He paused and stared at me. I didn't attempt ta answer. I hadn't seen him that angry in a long time. I looked down, wantin' ta avoid his gaze. "Fuck," he whispered. "I'm sorry," he cooed. He patted my shoulder awkwardly. "You gotta try to understand that – I _really_ am trying here, but you gotta try too. I know I made a mistake. I know I am a selfish prick, but can you at least talk to me for a minute? I know I can't be the only one with questions, right?" I nodded and remained focused on the dull tile beneath us. "So, can we attempt to be civil? I mean were fucking adults now."

"Yes, we can," I answered shyly.

"Alright," he added. I could hear tha smile in his voice without glancin' up. "Can you talk now?" We both glanced at tha other servers who had seemed to gain an interest into our conversation. Tha diner was completely empty except for them.

"Sit down in that booth by tha window an' I'll jus' let me know I'm goin' on break."

"Alright." He nodded an' headed over to tha booth, takin' a seat facin' tha door. Tha two servers, Loressa an' Jackson, bombarded me with questions tha minute I approached them.

"Who's that?" Loressa hissed in a playful way.

"An old friend."

"Uh huh," Jackson teased.

"He is!" I barked, shuttin' them both up. "I'm takin' a breather for a few."

"Sure," Loressa coughed, shovin' Jackson.

"Whatever ya fucks," I muttered, headin' back ta tha booth. "Shoot," I ordered, ploppin' down across from him.

"Ladies first," he suggested. A blush almost rose up my cheeks. I nodded, curlin' my lips under my teeth ta hide my smile.

"Where've ya been?" I asked, simply.

"Everywhere."

"More of a specific answer please." Christ, not this. I cannot handle tha playfulness.

"Texas, Canada, California, Nevada, Alabama, Kentucky, Georgia, Iraq, Florida…"

"Wait – _Iraq_?" I interrupted.

"Yes."

"Army?"

"The Marines."

"An' ya couldn't've called or written ta tell anyone?" He srunched his face up an' pulled a toothpick from tha holder. He spun it aroun' in his mouth multiple times before answerin'.

"It wasn't that easy, Ali."

"Because usin' your hands ta dial a ten digit number is a lot of work." I was tired of hearin' his excuses. I didn't want ta hear them anymore.

"I was drunk almost consistently. You tellin' me you would have wanted me calling you up drunk and depressed every day? I lost _you_. I lost Brendan. And I was losing my mother…"

"You didn't lose me, Tommy. That's what relationships are. Relationships are about leanin' on each other, helpin' each other. Communication!"

"You already had enough on your plate, Ali. Your parents were fucked up on pills. My stress would have just added to yours."

"At least I would have known ya were okay," I snapped back angrily.

"A little late to be mad at me now – isn't it?"

"Not really," I answered, lettin' the venom fill my words. I shifted in tha booth an' gazed out of tha window. "Why didn't ya ever write? Even after she passed?"

"She didn't pass until I was 20, by then it had been four years…. I figured you'd found somebody."

"Still could've written."

"Yes. I _could_ have, but I didn't, because I had more respect for you than that." I could feel his eyes on me, but I refused to cave. "Have you found someone?"

"Yes," I replied, returnin' my attention ta him.

"He treat you well?" I shrugged, knowin' I couldn't lie either way.

"Well enough."

"If that's your answer, you deserve better, and you know it." I fought tha urge ta laugh, but offered him a smile instead. "What's his name?"

"Jem."

"Jem?"

"It's short for James."

"How long have you been together?"

"About four years," I answered, scrunchin' up my nose."

"He from around here?"

"Born an' raised."

"What's he do for a living?" I sighed loudly an' held my hands up.

"I thought this was about my past."

"Yes! But you sound like my father!" He smiled cheekily.

"I think I have a right to know these things, he did take your heart from me." His words caused me ta stop breathin' for a moment. I yearned ta tell him that it had never left his side. But, it was too late. Way too late for all of that. Too much shit was at stake now. "What does he do?"

"He works down at tha quarry." There was no way in hell I could tell Tommy tha truth. There was no way I could tell him anything. I eyeballed Loressa an' Jackson at tha bar across tha diner an' felt a pang in my gut.

"Good. How old is he?"

"Thirty-four."

"Not bad." I squinted at him. All I wanted ta do was reach over an' shake him. Tell him anythin' an' everythin' about how badly I wanted ta escape. How badly I wanted ta be his again. I couldn't understand how blind he was. Why he couldn't see it…

"What's not bad?" I mocked, foldin' my arms over my chest.

"You're not alright?"

"Oh! I'm _peachy_," I told him, my voice drippin' with sarcasm.

"Are you being sarcastic?" he whispered lowly.

"Maybe," I whispered back. He stared at me hard for a minute. I broke eye contact after a second an' glanced at tha clock. "My break's up," I lied.

"And that's all you're gonna tell me?" Exasperated, I rubbed my temples an' sighed.

"What else do ya want me ta say, Tommy? I answered everything ya asked. What else do ya want ta hear?"

"I just wanna know what happened to you." My pot boiled over. I could feel tha heat travel down my body.

"When? What time frame? I mean really! Seriously, Tommy! Did ya think you'd jus' walk in here an' whisk me off my feet like some kind of white knight? Shit happened ta me, like it did you. We are completely different. We were kids. We're adults now." I stared at tha stubble on his face, I wanted ta have it scrapin' against my cheeks again. I wanted his arms around me. But I couldn't. I would never feel that again. I was Jem's. An' if I ever left without his consent – there would be hell ta pay. It's not like Tommy couldn't handle Jem, it was tha mob behind Jem that would get Tommy – an' then Gia.

"That's not what I came here for," he grumbled, givin' me his thousand yard stare.

"Then why!" He shrugged an' rapped his bruised knuckles on tha table.

"Is friendship too much to ask for?" he asked, quietly, still starin' at tha table. I bit my lip at my own words. I definitely didn't want ta hear that. I watched the snow again for a moment, swallowin' small pieces of me that were still tryin' ta break out an' embrace him.

"No – " I paused. "It's not." He looked up an' smiled slowly, his lips pullin' up in tha corners.

"That's the only thing I wanted to know." I exhaled gradually and nodded, forcin' a smiled on my face. We sat in silence for a moment. "What do you have to eat around here?" he asked, reachin' for a menu.

"Food," I replied, jokingly. He smirked an' cocked an eyebrow up at me.

"Okay, Ms. Sassy," he teased. He stared at me for a moment, then smiled. "Get me whatever you like."

"You're brave." I scribbled his order out an' punched it in, givin' nothin' away as I stood by his booth.

"So," I sighed, foldin' my arms across my chest. "How long hav'ya been out?"

"About two months…" he spoke ta tha booth across from him before lookin' up at me.

"Did ya just roam around for a while?" He nodded, sayin' nothing as he spun tha toothpick around in his mouth. "An no women – at all?" I asked, quirkin' my eyebrow up.

"Ali…" he sighed, rollin' his eyes.

"Answer tha question, Conlon. We're not together. I'm not gonna get mad." He shook his head at me an' scratched tha back of his neck.

"There were… a few," he admitted. "Never went past anything physical, ya know? They always wanted more – just never could really."

"Why not?" He shrugged an' held eye contact with me for a while.

"Because of –" Tha door swingin' open wildly cut Tommy off. We both turned ta watch one pissed off Jem Coughlin barrel inside.

"Jem!" I chirped out of shock. My stomach fell down ta tha floor. I felt vomit rise in my throat. Damn it.

"Tha fuck's goin' on in here?" Jem growled, gesturin' ta Tommy.

"Jem, this is Till's old friend, Tommy," I spoke, tryin' ta keep my voice even. I nervously wiped my hands off onto my apron an' smiled.

"I gather all that. Why are ya takin' a break with me?"

"Ta catch up." Tommy raised his eyebrow an' smiled. I knew he meant nothin' by it, but Jem didn't know Tommy.

"Hey, you must be Alina's boyfriend. I'm Tommy Conlon," Tommy told Jem, holdin' his hand out. Jem's eyes narrowed. He looked at Tommy's hand, then into his eyes.

"It's a little late for all that, ya fuck. Don't ya fuckin' think so?" Jem snapped. He stared at my angrily and I knew what tha issue was immediately. Without rollin' my eyes, I stepped into his side. His arm clamped around me instantly – his sign of protection, love, an' ownership.

"Yeah. I guess you're right," Tommy added after a minute. Jem held his gaze on Tommy for a long while waitin' for him ta speak again.

"Oh, what?" Jem smarted. "Ya can't talk ta my girl when I'm here?" Tommy squinted an' looked between tha both of us.

"I-" Tommy started. He stopped an' shook his head. "I'm gonna go." He threw a twenty on tha table an' pushed it towards me. "See ya around." The two men held eye contact while Tommy rose from tha booth, steppin' within inches of Jem. I could feel his arm flex around me as Tommy walked past us.

"Ya know what people start sayin' when they see ya talkin' ta guys like that?" Jem asked. I knew it wasn't really a question. Not exactly. It was a warnin'. Jem held his eyes on Tommy as he left tha diner an' crossed tha street.

"_No_, what do _they_ say?" I quipped, steppin' out of his hold. Tha muscles in his face tightened. I knew he was never bold enough ta hit me, but there were times I could sense my mouth was gettin' me into trouble. He held his hands low on his hips an' smiled widely. He looked up at me an' tha smile was replaced with a scowl.

"Ya know exactly what they'll say."

"I could _care less_ what _anyone_ thinks of me, Jem!" It was my honest thought. I couldn't care at all. People talk whether they have reason or evidence to anyway. What did it matter?

"An' ya see? _That's tha thing._ I know ya don't, but I do. Because ya know your name is tied with mine. An' when my name gets tossed around in gossip, ya know how I handle it." I felt an intense shiver run down my spine. He never handled gossip well. His tolerance was like that of a teenage girl with a shotgun, although I'd fear for tha person that told him that. I understood a lot of it was for safety, but tha way he handled it – it was terrifying. He dwelled on it. Jem took a quick glance around tha diner an' stepped in front of me, inches from my face. "Keep a fuckin' eye out on who's watchin' ya, _Alina_," he growled. "Ya got eyes on ya _constantly_." He kissed me hard on tha forehead an' left tha diner, leavin' me ta my own personal hell. My hand fell into my right apron pocket immediately, lookin' for that pill bottle… I winced when I realized what I was doin'. Today was not that day.


End file.
